


Are you going to order?

by yukiawison



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, waiter!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3450488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukiawison/pseuds/yukiawison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is a waiter. Steve is a distracted customer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are you going to order?

Steve barely registered the ding of the diner's door as he rushed into the nearest and cheapest looking restaurant. He was too busy trying to figure out why he couldn't get the proportions right on any of the portraits he was working on. So busy in fact, that he didn't realize he'd been sitting at the counter for ten minutes until one of the waiters spoke up.

"You planning on ordering something mister?" Steve looked up, eyes colliding with the dark gaze of the handsome waiter in front of him. The man smirked, coffee pot poised in one hand, pastel uniform slightly rumpled.

"Oh, right, sorry," Steve sputtered. "Coffee, I'll take coffee."

"Sure thing sugar," the man said

"Are you an artist?" The waiter said, leaning forward to inspect Steve's drawing as he poured.

"Trying to be," Steve mumbled.

"Lemme see," he said, extending a hand to take the sketch. Steve did, hesitantly. He didn't usually like sharing his art.

"Who's that? Your dame?"

"That's my friend Peggy," he said. "She's not anyone's dame."

"It looks nice," he said. "You got talent."

Steve laughed. "Well at least someone thinks so. I can't seem to get the proportions right."

The man stepped back. "You need a new model?" He asked, posing dramatically with the coffee pot.

Steve grinned. "I'd draw you."

He stuck out a hand. "I'm Bucky. Nice to meet ya."

"Steve," he said, taking it. "Are you from Brooklyn?"

"Born and raised," Bucky crowed. "You?"

Steve nodded. "I've still got a place there."

"Man I miss Brooklyn. I moved to be closer to Broadway."

"Course, waiters are never just waiters. They're all aspiring musicians or poets or writers..."

"Or actors."

"Well you're on your way with a name like Bucky."

"It's James actually," he said, wiping down the counter. "Bucky's a nickname. You want more coffee?"

"I'm fine. Where does the Bucky come from?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of all the presidents why Buchanan? James Buchanan Barnes. I'd rather be Teddy Roosevelt or something. That guy seemed swell."

Steve laughed. He had a nice laugh; it made Bucky's fingers tingle. "I can't exactly see you hunting down elephants in an African safari."

"Touche."

***

After his conversation with Bucky the dashing waiter, Steve found himself frequenting the diner more often. He always sat at the counter, ordered a coffee, drew, and chatted with Buck. He'd tried his hand at drawing him a couple times, hiding the sketches stealth-fully as Bucky buzzed about the restaurant, filling up drinks and setting down trays of sandwiches and pie. He always presented food with a million dollar smile. He claimed it yielded better tips, but Steve was convinced Bucky just liked seeing people happy.

"So I've got this great audition right?" Bucky's accent seemed to thicken when he was excited. "And..."

"Hey! Are you gonna do your damn job idiot?" An angry, heavyset man with a mustache that bits of his burger clung to, shouted at Bucky.

"I'm sorry sir," Bucky said, jumping to attention.

"Kids these days. Nothing but lazy."

"In all due respect sir, say that to the boys who went off to fight for this country. They might beg to differ."

"Steve, please," Bucky whispered, expression pained.

"No, by all means, let the shrimp speak."

Steve bolted out of his seat, and Bucky came dashing out from behind the counter to keep him from decking the guy. It wasn't as if it was hard. Steve was just over 100 pounds, and had skinny arms that did more flailing than legitimate punching.

"Jesus Stevie you can't beat up a customer!"

"He was rude!" Steve started. "To you," he finished, voice smaller.

"Steve if you beat up everyone who was rude to me you'd have to deck half of Manhattan."

Steve frowned. "I'm sorry Buck."

"Hey, it's not as if I don't appreciate the sentiment," Bucky said, nudging him. "I kinda wanted to deck him myself."

***

"Jesus Christ Steve is this a common theme with you?" Steve tried to conceal the bruised eye that was slowly turning from black to a milder purple.

"I...um. Well yes." He said, sliding up to the counter and taking a sip of his usual coffee order. Bucky had taken to putting the cream and sugar in for him.

"This thug was harassing these two dames trying to get home from work and...well I put up a good fight."

"Why do you do it?"

Steve thought for a minute, and Bucky leaned into him, resting his elbows on the counter and relaxing into a slouch.

"What if it were Peggy? Or you? Wouldn't you want someone looking out for your friends?"

"We're friends?" Blucky was blushing. "Gee Stevie I thought you were getting sick of me."

"I'd never get sick you you."

"Lemme get you some ice."

***

"Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite  
jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath bore me on his back a  
thousand times, and now how abhorr'd in my imagination it is!  
My gorge rises at it."

"What are you doing Bucky?" Bucky Barnes looked up from the apple he was addressing. 

"It's my skull stand in. I'm auditioning for Hamlet."

"Oh, I read Hamlet. You're good for it."

"What's it about?"

"What's what about?"

"Hamlet. I only have the pages they gave me. I don't have the extra cash this month to buy a copy."

"Well it's about a Danish prince."

"It's about a pastry?"

"No, like Danish as in Denmark Buck."

"Oh, right, right. I've got it."

"And when his father dies mysteriously his uncle marries his mother."

"Gross."

"And the ghost of his father tells him that the uncle murdered him and that he needs to avenge him. It just gets bloody...and complicated."

"Blood, ghosts, sounds up my alley."

"Do you want me to read with you?"

"That'd be swell, here, read for Horatio."

***

"Hey Bucky! How did it...?"

"I didn't get it," he said darkly, looking down at the tub of dirty dishes he had in front of him.

"Gee Buck I'm sorry."

He shook his head before looking up with a forced smile. "I just thought it might be my chance y'know?"

"I know. You'll get your chance Bucky."

"I think about giving up sometimes, becoming a full time waiter."

"You're really good Buck. You've just gotta find the right part and..."

"What if the right part's not out there?" he said, face flushing and fists clenching. "I don't think I can do this anymore."

"Hey," Steve presented the day's paper. "I found a part that looks good for you. I read the play so I can help."

Bucky smiled, a sad, weak little smile that reminded Steve of his mother and nodded. "Alright Steve."

***

"Bucky...why do you look like you're about to faint?"

"I don't..." he steadied himself on the counter, swaying a bit and trying to look confident.

"I skipped lunch," he said finally. "Ruth said she got a raise when she started skipping lunch." His thin form nearly doubled over the counter, and Steve was worried.

"Hey Buck, I'll take a club sandwich."

Bucky scowled. "You trying to taunt me?" He got the sandwich regardless, setting it down heavily.

"I don't think I can finish all these fries," he hummed, a minute or two later. Bucky looked at him skeptically.

"I know what you're trying to do and I don't appreciate it. I can take care of myself."

"Suit yourself," Steve said, lifting a fry to his mouth and watching as Bucky followed the movement with his eyes.

"Bucky please. You've got to eat." He glanced around the shop before relenting, grabbing at a handful of fries.

"You want half of the sandwich?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed, his nose scrunching a bit. He looked cute like that. Bucky always looked good, but his childish expressions were entertaining.

He took up a knife and sliced the remaining half of the sandwich in half again. "Have it your way."

Steve smiled, satisfied. "Hey Buck. You've got ketchup on your face."

"Did I get it?"

He hadn't.

"Lemme get it," he reached up with a napkin and wiped the ketchup from the edge of his lip, leaning in close so he met those dark eyes again.

"Thanks," Bucky said with a smirk, eyes lighting with something Steve couldn't quite place.

***

"So is it the food or is it that boy?"

"Are you referring to Bucky?"

"Steven Rogers you know exactly who I'm referring to." Peggy looked at him, somewhere between stern and intrigued.

"I," Steve flushed. Peggy'd known he had flings with fellas as well as dames...I mean he wanted to have flings. Steve wasn't really the fling type. "like him. I do. But I like the coffee."

Peggy smiled, lipstick curving wide. "Let me meet him," she said, leaning her elbows on the table." They were eating toast at Peggy's kitchen table, sunlight streaming through her thin curtains."

"Gee Peg you don't have to ask my permission. He's not mine."

"But you want him to be?"

Steve shrugged, blushing too much to answer.

Peggy laughed. "I'm sure I'll meet him someday soon."

***

"Hey Stevie," Bucky came up behind him, leaning over and putting his head on Steve's shoulder. "Whatcha drawin?"

Steve covered up the sketch frantically. "Nothing...it's nothing."

"Show me!"

Steve handed him the drawing, closed his eyes, and covered his face with his hands.

"It's...me," he muttered. "You drew me?"

"You asked me to, remember?"

"Sure I do. I just didn't think you would. It looks..."

"Better than my other drawings. It's the best I've done actually."

Bucky bowed slightly. "Well, you're welcome."

Steve laughed. "You don't get all the credit."

***

"Bucky you need to go home."

"I don't," he sniffled. "Need to go home." He coughed, jamming a tissue over his nose before throwing it on the growing pile in the trash can.

"You're sick."

"I don't want to lose my job."

"Bucky..."

"Steve."

"Alright. I have to go. I'll be back to help you come closing time. Get some rest jerk."

"Don't count on it punk."

True to his word, Steve came back at closing time, plastic container of chicken noodle soup in his hands. Bucky was there, asleep with his head on the counter, shock of brown hair muzzed and falling into his long eyelashes. Steve smiled, set the soup and a note next to his sleeping form, and tucked his jacket over him. He went home cold, but happy.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Much, thanks for the soup, and the..."

"Are you wearing my jacket?"

"I like it? Do you?"

"Well yeah, I bought it."

"Right, right," Bucky said, sliding it off and handing it to him. Later, when he was alone, he breathed in the fabric, Bucky's scent, like grease from the diner and peppermint. It was then when he knew he had it bad.

***

"You don't have to help me."

"I know. I want to."

Bucky wiped down another table and then ducked behind the counter. "Have you seen the napkins?"

"I think they're down here." They ducked down beside the shelves below the counter in unison, both reaching for the napkins. Their fingers brushed, It should've been nothing, it had to be nothing.

Bucky looked at him. Those goddamn eyes looked at him. Steve felt himself leaning in. He wanted to stop but he couldn't. He leaned in and his lips met Bucky's. He leaned in and his heart started pounding. And then Bucky was kissing back. And it was unexpected but not unwelcome.

"I knew it," Bucky grinned, when they finally broke apart. "I knew you liked me. I knew it."

Steve was breathless. The asthma, he told himself, the asthma. "You knew it? How come I didn't know it?"

"I guess you aren't as perceptive to flirting as I am."

Steve laughed, and he knew things were going to be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this: http://maria-tries.tumblr.com/post/112068459510/au-in-which-everything-is-flipped-feat-peggy-cap


End file.
